


Smoke Signals

by Severina



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Gapfillerpalooza
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-10-04
Updated: 2004-10-04
Packaged: 2017-10-10 19:10:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/103170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beside me, Justin stretches and yawns, pale skin rubbed raw, bruised lips.  I draw deeply on the cigarette and try to ignore him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smoke Signals

**Author's Note:**

> Episode 110  
> Written for "Gapfillerpalooza"

I light up a cigarette, watching as the smoke spirals to the ceiling. It twists and curls, caught by the swirl of air filtering systems and ventilation and fucking knows what else, thrust from its path by forces outside its control.

Beside me, Justin stretches and yawns, pale skin rubbed raw, bruised lips. I draw deeply on the cigarette and try to ignore him. Everything seemed straightforward back in the Pitts. We'd drive to New York. I'd find the little shit and make him pay for stealing my gold card.

Yeah, I fully intended to kick his ass. Instead, I ended up rimming it.

Justin's hand trails down my side and I slap it away in irritation. "We have to get going," I tell him. I'd told the guys we'd meet them in an hour, and it had already been two. "Go take a shower."

"Are you coming?"

I side-glance at him then, and talk around my smoke. "You obviously weren't paying attention if you have to ask."

"Hmmm…" Justin's hand wanders lower, cupping my cock. Brazen little shit. "Maybe I need another lesson."

"You need to get in the fucking shower before I change my mind about taking you back," I bark out. I sit up, stub out my cigarette on the plate of some artery-clogging atrocity that I fucking paid for, and ignore how quickly his eyes drop to the floor and the smug grin slides from his face. He scurries off the bed and grabs a robe and I run a hand through my hair and... fuck.

"Justin."

He hesitates in the bathroom doorway, hand clutching at the doorjamb, shoulders tense and spine straight. I bite back a sigh and try to remember what it was like to be seventeen, seventeen and gay and scared and alone.

Except I always had one place where I was safe. Where I wasn't alone.

"Justin," I say again, softer this time, and this time he glances over his shoulder at me. "Just... hurry up."

He smiles, a little tentatively, and heads into the bathroom. And I wait until I hear the shower turn on before digging through my clothes for my cell phone. Dial the familiar number, then realize that I need another cigarette for this. I've barely got it lit before the receiver is snatched up and "Liberty Diner" is screeching into the earpiece.

I take a deep breath. Here we go. "Hey Deb."

"Did you find him? Is Sunshine okay?"

"He's fine--"

"You found him? Brian Kinney, if one hair on his head is out of place--"

"Every hair is intact, Deb. He's fine. More than fine," I add, wincing as some sort of caterwauling drifts from the other room. Christ, is the kid really singing Cher in the shower? Fuck, if there was any doubt that he was a fag...

"Thank god." I can picture her then, hand clutching at her chest, pencil stuck behind her ear, wad of chewing gum lodged in her cheek, all colour and bright light. The image is oddly comforting, in a weird funhouse kind of way. "When are you bringing him home?"

I take a drag on my cigarette, savouring the harsh pull of the smoke in my lungs. "The thing is," I tell her, "he can't live with me."

"Well he sure as fuck can't go home," Deb shrieks into my ear, "his father will beat the shit out of him!"

"You're right," I say quickly before she can get her breath. "I was thinking... maybe he could move in with you."

There's a hesitation on the line. I close my eyes and take another drag and send out a prayer and try to establish a psychic link saying This Is A Really Great Idea... just something, anything... because if Deb refuses then I really don't know what the fuck I'm going to do.

Because I don't know what it is with this kid. Justin... fuck, he undoes me. He makes the air thick and muggy. He fills it with his presence. And I need my space. I need to breathe.

"With me?" Deb finally says. "I don't know, Brian... it's been a long time since I've had a teenager in the house."

"Mikey's still a teenager," I snark. "Mentally."

"Asshole," she huffs out, but there's no anger in it. Another pause, then, "We'd have to make sure his mother approves."

"Of course," I assure her. Considering Jennifer Taylor had no problem turning her seventeen year old son over to his twenty-nine year old lover, I really don't think she'll be difficult to convince.

"Well," she says. "Well, okay then! I'll call Jennifer right now. This could be really good for Sunshine, a positive environment. And Vic will love having somebody else to cook for, you know he always complains that he can't make his fancy desserts 'cause there's just the two of us."

I smile into the phone. "Great. And I'll cut you a cheque every month to help out with the expenses."

"You most certainly will not!" Goodwill and happiness gone, shrieking back. That's Deb for you. "What the fuck do I look like, a charity case?"

"Deb--"

"I'm sure Jennifer and I can work something out. I sure as hell don't need--"

"Deb!" I shout into the phone. What was it that Jennifer said about Justin? He eats like a goat and goes through clothes like a linebacker? Something like that. Whatever it was, it was fucking true. I've spent more on food alone in the past four weeks than I did in the previous six months. Deb's forgotten how much a teenager can pack away. "We'll talk about it when I get back, okay?"

She sighs, and I know I'll have a fight on my hands. But she lets it drop. "When _are_ you bringing our Sunshine back to his home sweet home?"

"We're leaving now." I take a final drag on my smoke and stub it out on the remains of Justin's lobster. Fucking little shit ordered lobster on my credit card. Un-fucking-believable. "We'll be back in about six hours, give or take."

"I'll wait up."

"Okay. Thanks, Deb."

"Brian?"

I bring the phone back to my ear. "Yeah?"

"You're a good boy, Brian. Even when you are a little shit."

Fuck if I know what to say to that.

"Now you get that boy home safe," she continues. "And don't be speeding, you don't want to take any chances on those highways. There's a lot of crazy people out there."

"Yes, ma," I drawl into the phone, and she laughs. I click 'end call' before she can start warning me about seatbelts and road safety.

I fling the phone towards the bed and pad into the bathroom. I still reek. I figure there's enough time for a quick shower before we head back to Chelsea and pick up the boys.

Steam envelopes the bathroom in a smoky haze, but I can make out Justin's silhouette behind the fogged glass of the shower stall. I step closer to the partition, watching as Justin arches his back under the spray. The water glides down his torso, caressing his pale skin with warm wet fingers.

I lick my lips and slide open the door.

Justin jerks when he feels like cool air on his skin, and glances nervously over his shoulder. "I'm almost done," he rushes to assures me.

I pluck the soap from his hand and spin him toward the frosted glass. "Ready for that lesson?" I breathe into his ear.

Justin smiles, and moans, and presses back against my chest as I nip along the shell of his ear, down his neck, my unshaven cheeks marking a fresh trail on his sensitive skin.

We're already late. What's another hour?


End file.
